The smoke-filled Castle Inn was raucous, and manythere were well on their way to being under the table, but that tended to loosen lips. Braydon mingled, hearing the latest scurrilous jokes and incendiary remarks, which might prove useful later, but mostly picking up the atmosphere.
Men of all ranks gathered there, but it wasn’t a fashionable venue, so he got some looks and even comments. But on the whole he was known and accepted there. Not everyone was a revolutionary, but it was a haunt of radicals. Among the drunken jocularity were groups deep in fierce political and philosophical debates. Some were frankly for a republic, but not the sort that guillotined the royal family. A few would cheer each falling head, but had more sense than to say so at the moment.
Could the French Revolution have been turned aside by the tragic death of Queen Marie Antoinette in childbirth? Unlikely.
He joined a group of men who were looking to the Regent to lead the cry for better justice and fair wages. Braydon had little faith that the Regent would go so far, but he put in a word. “He might. He led the campaign to bar French silk, demanding that everyone wear English silk products.”
“Aye,” said a few. But “Silk!” said another, and spat on the floor.
“Even silk weavers deserve jobs and fair wages,” Braydon pointed out.
No one argued with that, but the spitting man said, “What wage is fair with bread the price it is because of the bloody Corn Laws?”
That set them off in another direction.
Braydon moved on, listening in particular for any mention of the royal dukes. All he heard was a joke about the middle-aged princes probably scrambling for wives of childbearing age in order to provide an heir.
“You know what brothers are like,” an old man said, showing long teeth and few of them. “All out to show up the others.”
“My money’s on Clarence,” another said. “A hearty sailor, and look at the family he had with Mrs. Jordan!”
The Duke of Clarence had lived openly with the actress Mrs. Jordan for decades and sired ten children with her, all known as FitzClarence. There was another bunch of potential monarchs if only they were legitimate.
The Royal Marriages Act had created problems, but a prince’s marriage to an actress was exactly the sort of thing it had been designed to block. Clarence and Mrs. Jordan had parted six years ago, and she’d died last year. Even if Clarence had considered himself committed to her, he was free to marry now. In moments, a betting book was out and wagers were being made on which of the princes would sire the first son.
Braydon had learned what he could for now, so he found a hackney and traveled home. He let himself into his rooms, but Johns was waiting up for him.
“Lady Dauntry?” he asked quietly.
“Is sleeping in the second bedroom with Miss Oldswick, sir.”
Braydon nodded, disappointed. Strange, when he’d always preferred to sleep alone.
“Any problems?” he asked as he undressed.
“No, sir. Do you require food or drink, sir?”
“Only hot water, and then get to bed.”
Once Braydon was washed and ready for bed, he sat to make brief notes. His memory was such that he didn’t need them, but he sometimes found it useful to lay out key points in search for connections. Something dangerous was afoot, and he must put a stop to it.
Chapter 27
Kitty woke, and for a moment thought the body in the bed beside her was her husband’s, but, alas, it was Henry’s. Some daylight came in around the curtains, but she sensed it was early. She realized that she must have been woken by Sillikin’s mind power, for the dog was standing by the bed, staring the message that she needed to go out.
“At least I should be able to trust the servants here,” Kitty muttered.
She climbed out of bed, shivering in the chilly air, and put on her robe. As soon as she opened the door, Sillikin went straight through and toward the back.
Kitty heard a man say, “You need to go out, little one? Very well.”
Clearly, Sillikin had the matter in hand. Kitty left the door open a crack so the dog could return, and rubbed her hands to get some warmth into them.
Was Braydon home? The thought of him being out all night stirred her worries about a mistress, but by day and rested, she couldn’t believe that. He’d come here on important business. In addition, she might not know him perfectly, but she felt sure he wouldn’t go to a mistress the day after his wedding night. It would simply be... unsmooth.
Henry stirred. “What time is it?”
“I’m not sure. We need the fire started and washing water.”
